I had decided to have at least one hot dog a day for the next year. Yesterday, with one car in the shop, and the wife and daughter with need for the other cars, I planned to have my daughter pick me at work and drop me at a place where their menu suggested I could have a Martin Rosol hot dog at the bar for $6, and then walk a few blocks to my physical therapy appointment. My daughter updated me that she did not need to go into work as soon as she thought so she could pick me up closer to my appointment. I debated sticking to the original plan so I get my daily dog, but the thought of me sitting alone at a restaurant bar, eating only a hot dog was depressing, so I had her get me closer to my appointment. While I rehabbed my knee, the therapist pressed me for the latest news from the hot dog trail, and I related the 7-11 dog that had been on the roller for 70 hours, but still tasted good, told my Oscar Meyer Weiner Genie joke, and then announced I was going to write a book about hot dogs so they wouldn't think I was some crazy old man on the hot dog spectrum. The book would be about aging and the changing world, and the consistency of the hot dog to bring joy. I thought about telling them about the hot dogs on the stove of my cardiac arrest patient, but deferred as that dark humor might not be appreciated by all listening. My therapist had some interesting hot dog ideas for me. I should check out a meat store in Avon that sold exotic meats. Maybe I could find rattlesnake or ostrich hot dogs. Eureka! I will definitely look into that (I did. They don't have them). When he asked what I was having for dinner, I mentioned I was going to put some leftover clams I had in a marinara sauce. Why not put in a hot dog! Eureka X 2!
Marinara with cherrystone clams and one cut up Hebrew National hot dog.
Not bad. Tasted like spaghetti marinara with clams and a cut up hot dog in it.